


Astray

by Maybethings



Series: May Be Promptin' [118]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-04 01:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptfic. Ketojan/Maraas, forbidden fruit, "you are not alone"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astray

"I don't suppose you're going to talk," Maraas says, stirring his pot of dinner. A stew of seaweed and wild fruits, today. The mage growls charily at him. His mask is broken, and under the stitched lips, he can see a flash of white, white teeth. Nope, no hope of conversation here. He turns back to his cooking, scooping out a bowlful of the mush.

"Eat. Go on," he says in as encouraging a tone as he can manage. "If your karataam has mislaid you—"

The saarebas growls even _more_ fiercely.

"—fine, if you have been separated from them, then you'll have to rely on yourself to keep yourself strong."

Slowly, the saarebas picks the bowl up and eats, somehow managing to feed himself between the loose strings that bind his lips. Maraas would cut them, but a crackle of lightning makes him step backwards.

He prepares his bed on the sand and stone as usual, building up enough of a fire to last through the night. Maraas is about to doze off when he feels someone brushing up against him, followed by cold metal and warm flesh encircling his waist.

The saarebas growls quietly, with no tone of aggression. It's almost a purr. Old habits die hard and he nearly pushes him away, but he is toasty warm and the night is cold. He closes his eyes, and sleeps soundly with the mage's breath warm and regular upon his neck.

Tonight, he's not alone.

* * *

The next day Maraas wakes when the sun is high in the sky. The campfire is ashes, the mage gone. There is blood on the sand. He sniffs, tastes.

It's human blood, and it tastes of lyrium.


End file.
